#lipton

No amount of schnapps could generate such warmth. Not after the lieutenant had cornered him in the room and started undressing without a word. Like a dog after a juicy slab of meat, he'd thrown all propriety to the wind and let his carnal desires he'd pent up for so long run free. Mapping his tongue on hot skin and begging to be touched, to devour and be devoured, coming undone so viciously he thought he'd left the Earth and could never come back.

Indeed, no schnapps were needed. He'd been drunk on his lieutenant since the first time he saw him, like a desperate hound finding its master after being lost in the snow.

"Understood, Sir." Invariably.

There was an exasperated exhale. "I thought I told you to stop calling me Sir, Lieutenant."

He'd never get used to it, and probably would never stop. Still, when a look of blunt expectation was directed at him, daring him to continue to awkwardly hover his arm above the other's, he accepted grace. He shuddered at the feel of heated skin under his fingertips, finally settling his arm around the other man. Warm. Lieutenant Speirs was warm.

They watched the snow continue to fall heavily outside the window.

oOoOoOo

God, he was a lovesick fool, and he knew it. Bill knew it, and so did Toye. Liebgott looked like a mischievous cat that caught a fat rat. Heffron probably was the one running the company tabloids. And Roe?

Thank God Roe kept to himself and didn't ever flap lips.

Regardless, how was he to stop? To concentrate on anything else? No matter how insignificant the action, how mundane, everything Lieutenant Speirs did was worthy of utmost attention. The way he presented himself as an officer. Maintained his guns. Brought down order to the rest of the company with a single look. How his mere presence was a myth that demanded the highest caliber of respect.

How, when they were alone, and he'd nipped the underside of Carwood's jaw after slow kisses, and had whispered his name for him and him, only...

"You're drooling, by the way."

The mortification when it was a constantly confused Webster pointing out the fact that he was a goner.

"Yeah, he could lock in five hundred yards if meant staring at Lieutenant Speirs," Liebgott cackled to the other grunts, not even daring to lessen his volume. If it weren't for Captain Winter's orders to help man the post, he'd have wrangled the bastard by the collar.

If it weren't for how he was still staring at how incredible Lieutenant Speirs looked with a half-chewed cigarette, crouching down casually to two intimidated soldiers, he'd have left the post and gone trailing after the other man. If only. And no amount of snow could ever deter him, judging by how his prick was beginning to say hello.

oOoOoOo

He couldn't sort out the remaining booze fast enough. Or maybe he should leave and come back after a good while. Maybe write some letters to the family; get some shut eye. But then again, he dismissed the boys to go get some of their own rest. Malarky looked like he needed sleep for a hundred years, Liebgott dragged Webster off to do some mischief, and Perconte was drunk off of his ass because he nicked a good portion of the goods already.

"I'm gonna suck the fucking soul out of you right now."

Carwood blanched. He began to work faster, willing God to slow down time. The last thing he wanted was to be an unwilling victim of the spiritual damage Captain Nixon could inflict, and he really didn't want to envision Captain Winters in another light. Still, his prayers went unanswered, and low moans reverberated through to the wine cellar he was trapped in.

"Were you a good boy, Dick?" A sharp groan made him want to leap out of the window. "A . Good. Boy. Yes, you were. Yes, you were such a good fucking boy."

This was utterly unbearable. What were the odds the cellar was right below the room his superiors were in, and apparently, it was draftier than a squatter's lean-to on a cold winter's night. Thank the Lord none of the other men were here; the epiphany would cause utter chaos, and saving face would be nigh impossible. Carwood would keep his mouth shut, of course. No matter what, he'd never mar their reputation or cause trouble.

Still. He could really do without the audio horror.

"And I think a good boy deserves a reward."

At that, he had enough after a primal sound from Captain Winters made him want to disappear into the abyss. He sorted out the rest of the champagne and hard liquor before righting his helmet and gun to hightail it out of there. He had the key, so he planned on also locking the door behind to prevent any unwanted snoops who couldn't resist the stash. There was no way he was staying for another second.

He was nearly at the exit when a shadowy figure emerged into the light, startling him to sudden defense. Nearly dropped his rifle when he saw who it was.

"Sir!"

Lieutenant Speirs, in the flesh. Boring into his rigid form with the briefest of moments before he raised a finger to his lips, telling him to keep silent as he moved closer. He could do nothing else but swallow, attempting to mentally drown out the audible sounds of pleasure from the room above. The other man moved closer.

And closer. And closer. Step after step. Unconsciously backing him into the shadows of large wine barrels. Cornering him like an expectant feline approaching its doomed prey.

Silence, before he could do naught but hitch his breath. Firm hands on his belt. Lips against the shell of his hear.